Dream Fever
by Syrialla
Summary: Sarah's the typical new girl who keeps to herself, has a dark past, and is seemingly easy prey for Fred Krueger. But little does she know just how much power she has over the dream demon . . .
1. Chapter 1

Rated T for horror aspects, swears, and mild suggestive themes.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything Freddy Krueger or _A Nightmare on Elm Street_ affiliated. I am perfectly content with just writing fanfics about him. :)

**Author's Note:** First off, sorry about the sucky summary. If you are reading this, my mind is completely blown that it caught your attention. Thank you for wanting to read this. :)

This is my first Freddy fic eva', and it's also my first attempt at writing anything even remotely close to horror, so I'm sorry if I fail; I just had to try a horror fic at least once in my lifetime to see whether or not this is a genre that's doable for me. I kind of altered Freddy's character just a tinse, modeling him more after the Freddy of the first film than any of the others. I wanted to make him legitimately scary and not so much of a comedian (and plus, I've only watched the first movie and _Freddy vs. Jason_, so I am more familiar with the serious Freddy). I just feel that his character is better served without that comedic aspect.

Review if you like it, and review if you don't like it (just no flames, please). Constructive criticism would be appreciated to help me in the future, so please tell me what you think. :)

~ Syrialla

**Edit 10/21/11:** Re-uploaded and reedited, hopefully better than ever. Enjoy.

* * *

**Dream Fever**

Chapter 1**  
**

For as long as she could remember, Sarah had always had a knack for lucid dreaming. When she was a little girl, it had been her only lifeline to sanity, for only during the blessed hours of night could she escape the cold, cruel reality of life and create her own nirvana.

But after a while, when the main source of coldness and cruelty was gone from her life, Sarah grew tired of playing God with her dreams. No longer was her lucidity a heavenly gift; it was a curse, a blight meant to drive her mad. Any normal person would go to bed at the end of the day and simply sleep the night away, waking in the morning feeling as if only a second had passed. But not Sarah; the lucid dream-state would fall upon her night after night, and she was forced to dwell in it for hours until morning arrived. It was a terrible curse, one that Sarah futilely tried to fight.

But now, something was different.

She woke into the dream to find her senses on fire. The hard, metal surface she lay on pressed into her back with excruciating clarity, and an uncomfortable heat radiating from every direction caressed her bare skin. From all around, constant hisses and ominous creaks and clanks shattered the uncomfortable stillness of the air. Everything felt so _real_.

Sarah got to her feet, baffled at how her flimsy attire did nothing to relieve her of the heat. It was strange to feel such intense discomfort in a _dream_. Even the metal catwalk beneath her, pressing into her bare feet with its latticed frame, added a new depth that had never been present in any other dream before. Stranger still, she could barely sense the fog of sleep that covered her mind. It was so thin that it would have been undetectable if she hadn't been innately proficient in perceiving such things. Out of habit, she found herself subconsciously searching through the fog, looking for the subtle nuances that would allow her to manipulate the dream. But there weren't any.

_Screeeech._

Sarah's hands flew to her mouth as she jumped a foot off the catwalk. The piercing sound echoed ominously around her, almost as if it were taunting her.

She gulped and gripped the safety rail, peering nervously down below her. The noise had definitely come from down there somewhere, but all she could make out were enormous tanks and pipes vaguely illuminated by crimson halos of light. Her eyes darted all around, taking in the myriad of catwalks stretched between the cluttered spaces and interspersed at multiple levels, following them up, up, to the ragged darkness that clung to the ceiling.

"Sarah . . ."

She shrieked and spun around, leaning heavily against the railing for support.

Only the opposite rail stared back. Breathing rather loudly, Sarah ran her fingers through her hair, her heart pounding furiously. Wow, her subconscious really had done it this time. She actually felt _scared_. Terrified, even. Was this how normal people felt in their dreams? Was she actually experiencing a nightmare, one that she couldn't control?

Taking a few deep breaths, Sarah pushed herself off of the railing and slowly started down the walkway, comforting herself with the thought that it was perfectly ordinary to feel such vivid fear while in a dream, that all she had to do was keep moving and everything would become clear.

A shadow shifted out of the corner of her eye. She whipped her head to the side, but barely saw the silhouette below her before it slid out of view. An ominous cackle echoed harshly throughout the room.

Sarah could feel sweat beading on her brow as she glanced nervously around. She stood still for a few moments, trying to calm her fluttering heart. Unsuccessful, she continued along the catwalk. She'd rather have something happen to her while on the move than standing still like some brainless fodder.

All ambient light was swallowed as walls rose up sharply on both sides of the catwalk. Ahead, the walk sharply twisted to the left. Sarah deliberated for a moment, and then continued forward. As she rounded the corner, a soft glow of light came into existence. Before her was a flight of stairs, and at the bottom was a dim white bulb smiling at her, simultaneously promising protection and danger. Sarah descended the steps cautiously, unable to fight the claustrophobia that plagued her as hot, steaming pipes pressed in close, hissing their pleasure at having another victim. She lingered for a moment in the bulb's aura, and then continued on.

A thick darkness closed in around her. She caught herself thinking that maintenance was lax as she crept past several burnt out lights that could very well have sheltered her from the blackness if they had been working. Off in the distance, she saw another that light pierced through the darkness, flickering intermittently.

"Sarah . . ."

The silhouette of a man suddenly appeared twenty feet away, just outside of the light's range. Sarah quickly clamped her hand over her mouth, stifling the urge to scream again. She could have sworn that that very spot had been full of nothing but steam and smoke a mere second ago!

A deep, macabre laugh drifted down the walk, resonating between the pipes with bone chilling intensity. It was the laugh of a predator having caught its prey. The silhouette lifted his right hand aloft (it had the body shape of a male, although Sarah couldn't know for sure), almost as if he wanted Sarah to notice the four unnatural shapes that protruded from it. He turned his head to look at them, and then stretched out his arm to touch the nearby boiler.

The screech of metal was shrill and deafening, driving all thoughts from Sarah's mind. She frantically clapped her hands over her ears, willing it all to go away. Frozen with terror, she fearfully watched as the man stalked forward, lazily scraping his hand along the pipes.

"It's only a dream, it's only a dream, it's only a dream," she whispered to herself, pleading, crying. The shadowy figure's laugh echoed off the boilers.

"No, no . . . this is not _only_ a dream, Sarah." He withdrew his hand from the pipes with a low chuckle, and took a step into the light.

No, this definitely was not a dream. This was hell.

"Don't make this too easy," he growled, almost irritably, his face hidden beneath the shadow of a brown fedora. A filthy red and green striped sweater hung from his frame, and soot-blotched khakis covered his legs.

Sarah stared with bewilderment at his hand as he approached. Six-inch blades protruded from his metal glove like the claws of some giant cat, glinting sinisterly in the light. The man must have seen her where her attention was, because he stopped walking and looked at the blades lovingly, revealing a sadistic grin that split his grotesque features.

Sarah screamed, unable to tear her gaze away. The man slowly turned back towards Sarah, his ice blue eyes searing from underneath his hat. "All right, then. Have it your way."

In an instant, Sarah was sprinting back down the dark catwalk, away from the demon.

"Run, run, run, as fast as you can!" the man cackled demonically.

Everything blurred around Sarah as she raced to get away from the terrible walking corpse. She ran faster than ever before, ignoring her lungs as they threatened to burst into flames, ignoring her heart that was trying to beat its way out of her chest. All that mattered was that she got away from that _thing_ as fast as possible.

A metal clang sounded from above, and Sarah looked up wildly.

"Hah!" Knives sliced so near her face that she heard them scream through the air.

She couldn't stop herself in time. In an instant he was all around her and she was screaming, ripping and clawing her way away from him. His demented hands grasped her shoulder for a split second before she managed to fling herself over the railing of the catwalk. For a terrifying moment she thought that she would die, that she had jumped from too high a height, but then she landed hard on the cement floor below and tumbled forward.

"You have more spunk than I first thought," Sarah heard the man chuckle from above. She glanced up, but he was gone. Without taking time to think, she scurried to her feet and bolted into the nearest pocket of darkness.

Sarah had never, ever been so scared in her life. She felt like an unsuspecting mouse trapped in a maze, being stalked by a cunning cat with all the power of God himself. And how could anyone fight against God?

There. There was a little space between the floor and the pipes just big enough for Sarah to squeeze into. She skidded to a halt, panting. She didn't have anything to lose. She waved her hands near the pipe to check the temperature, but didn't have time to think as the thud of heavy boots drifted down the hallway from up ahead. Frantically, she launched herself into the gap and tried her hardest to melt into the pipes.

The man's labored breathing floated down the hall, drawn and nasally, making Sarah's stomach churn with fear as she heard him near. His boots clunked on the ground, slowly, one after the other. He wasn't in a hurry.

"Come to Freddy . . ." she heard him growl softly. A pair of grungy brown work boots stopped right in front of the gap, softly illuminated by the dim red light nearby. They were close enough for her to reach out and touch. Sarah held her breath, trying to disappear into the darkness. Freddy's low chuckle rose over the clamor of her frantic heartbeat, manifesting everything she ever feared into a single utterance. She couldn't hold her breath any longer.

A hand clasped her ankle and she was dragged forcefully out into the light.

"Well, hello, little piggy."

Sarah was roughly pulled to her feet, and abruptly the knives were against her throat.

Time stopped. Her heartbeat sped to an unbearable pace, and her breathing bordered on hyperventilation. Sarah closed her eyes to block out the situation, trying to wake from this nightmare. If only she could wish herself away to a better place. If only it wasn't so real.

Rough fingers lifted her chin up, and she was forced to look into his monstrous face. Horribly charred flesh covered his head and neck, giving off a sickly sheen in the light. Patches of bare tissue revealed a musculature so burnt that it shone black in places and had begun to peel into large flaky crisps. Thin tendrils of skin stretched across the exposed areas, miraculously keeping his seared face from disintegrating into a mass of decaying flesh. Freddy grinned, revealing crooked, yellow teeth.

"Delicious, isn't it?" His breath was hot on her face. Sarah stared into his piercing eyes, trying somehow to crush the tears that welled in her own. His smirk grew until it seemed it couldn't possibly fit on his face, and his eyes slowly trailed slowly down her flimsy nightgown.

Sarah clamped her eyes closed again, tears spilling over her lids and trickling down onto Freddy's hand. She prayed to God that she would wake soon. Freddy released her neck and gently wiped the tears from underneath her eyes. His hand shifted and began to softly stroke her face. Sarah whimpered involuntarily. Freddy's hand paused mid-stroke. She shuddered as he placed it on her forehead.

"Running a fever, are we?"

Suddenly, the world around Sarah whipped by in a haze of red, and lights exploded behind her eyes as her head cracked against the cement floor. She shrieked with the pain, and curled up in a protective ball. Through her swirling vision, she barely registered Freddy towering above her, and she thought she saw something similar to the fear she felt in her chest flicker in his own eyes.

He stared at her for a long time, watching her shiver with pain on the floor. Slowly, a sneer began to tease at Freddy's lips. "You have no idea, do you, darling?"

Sarah felt her stomach drop. The pure triumph and power in his voice made her nauseated.

Freddy suddenly threw his head back and roared with laughter. It echoed down the hallways with an unearthly ring, sharply breaking through Sarah's pain-filled haze.

"Please, God . . ." she pleaded, knowing there was no escape. In some far off part in her mind, she felt disgusted with herself for groveling. But now she had nothing left, and although she knew it was futile, she still felt the need to try to get through to this monster. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't try.

Freddy leered down at her. "This," he said, brandishing his knives, "is God."

Unable to move, Sarah could only watch as he descended, knives prepared to strike, a sick pleasure glowing in his eyes.

She woke up screaming, sweat pouring off her forehead like a waterfall. Her alarm blared in the background.

Sarah's mind reeled. The nightmare still clung to her as if it were reality. Her head throbbed, threatening to make her black out, yet she still clung to consciousness by the sheer strength of her fear.

Every black shadow in the corner hid his face; every cry of the wind from outside her window held the laugh of the demon. She could still hear his deep voice whispering her name, could still see the smile that covered his scorched visage. She could still see the way his eyes glowed as he looked at her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm the heaving of her chest and slow her racing heart.

It was just a terrible nightmare, nothing more. She kept repeating that over and over to herself, but she couldn't bring herself to believe it. It had been so much more than just a nightmare. Sarah released a tense breath, smoothing her hair back.

"What the . . ." Sarah quickly withdrew her hand. Her forehead was scalding.

Whipping the covers off, Sarah swung her feet off of the bed and stood up shakily. Her legs were wobbly and uncooperative as she staggered out of the room and into the bathroom across the hall. Thank God her parents weren't home to see her in such a state.

With trembling fingers, Sarah opened the medicine cabinet and dug around for the thermometer. After sifting through a sea of obsolete medications, she quickly found what she was looking for, slipped on a protective plastic covering, and stuffed it hurriedly under her tongue.

When the thermometer beeped, she withdrew it and stared unblinkingly at the number.

103.3

A sudden wave of nausea overtook her, and Sarah leaned into the sink and vomited. She sat there, clenching the sides of the sink, as she heaved and heaved until there was nothing else to dispel from her stomach. It was a struggle for her to remain standing as a wave of dizziness swept through her. Finally, after what seemed like hours, her stomach settled down enough where she could run the water and clean out the basin.

The second time around the thermometer read 98.9. Sarah glanced at the clock. Only fifteen minutes had passed. She had just been running the highest fever in her life, and within a quarter of an hour it was gone.

Words came crawling back to her, words that had been whispered to her in a dream. "Running a fever, are we?" His face flashed through her mind, a flicker of fear in his eyes. He had been afraid, albeit only for a second, but he had been afraid nonetheless. He had been afraid of something.

Of the dream fever.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Yay, I have some time to update! First off, THANK YOU to all you reviewers! They really made me want to continue this story! : )

This chapter is not as action-packed as the last, but in order to take this story where I want it to go, I am forced to do some exposition, so bear with me.

Oh, and if you do notice some improper grammar in the way some characters speak from here on out, this is completely intentional. Do you really, like, think high schoolers, like, speak with proper grammar? : )

~ Syrialla

**Edit 10/22/11: **Woo, I'm working my way up to a third chapter! I fixed some grammatical/structural mistakes on this one, tried to make it flow better, you know, all that jazz. Enjoy! I should have a new chapter up in a couple of days. :P

* * *

Chapter 2

Sarah glanced at the clock atop her DVD player. The glowing red numerals told her that it was far too early in the morning for her to be awake, and yet it was far too late for her to fall asleep.

She couldn't help herself. She couldn't smite that ever-present antagonistic leer from her mind's eye. It was driving her mad, but she couldn't stop her thoughts from continuously returning to that frightening visage. Her dream replayed over and over in her mind, unfazed by her desperate struggles to stop the images that flashed across her vision. With a sigh, Sarah shook her head to clear it from the tired fuzziness and forced herself to focus on the colorful movie that played out on her TV.

If one had looked at her house from across the street, he would have noticed that not a single window was dark at such an early hour. He might have wondered if a young boy was rebelling against his abusive parents and had started a party while his parents were out, or if a frantic mother had woken up to find her kids missing and was tearing the house apart.

It was a precaution, Sarah told herself, although she realized the folly of her attempts to stave off Freddy's face by staving off the darkness. She was perched on her comfy brown sofa, languidly watching _The Lion King_ as she sipped a steaming cup of French vanilla coffee. Against all reason, the liquid actually helped calm her. It also gave her something grounded in reality to hold onto.

She shifted her weight slightly and various bags of chips and boxes of caramel-covered popcorn crackled and started to slowly slide towards the indentation of her body. A sudden feeling of claustrophobic fear overcame her, and the phantom hissing of hot steaming pipes sounded in her ears. She gracelessly jumped to her feet. Coffee sloshed down her arm, and several of the food containers plopped onto the floor with a dull thud and broke open, releasing their contents onto the nice tan carpet. Sarah stood unmoving, ignoring the burning on her forearm while she collected her racing thoughts and tried to stamp down the fear inside of her. When her heartbeat had somewhat slowed, she navigated between the coffee table and the sofa and walked into the kitchen, not bothering to clean up the mess on the floor.

She leaned over the sink with exhaustion and blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to keep herself awake. Currently, it was 7:30 am; she would have to go to school in half an hour. Sarah's daily alarm was set to wake her at 5:00, partly to relieve her of the boredom of her lucid dreaming, and partly because she was a night owl. Or morning owl, in this case. Normally she wasn't so exhausted, but the nightmare had taken its toll, mentally and physically. She could still feel her head throbbing.

With a sigh, Sarah resignedly started to get ready for school. The thought of Springwood High brought a rising feeling dismay in her chest. She had only been there for two weeks, but they had been some of the worst weeks of her life. It didn't help that she was too shy to approach anyone. The only person she knew there was Kaylee, her best friend since they had gone to school in Indiana in kindergarten. They had been together through thick and thin, and Sarah remembered all too clearly the pain it had caused her when Kaylee had moved away from Indiana to Springwood. But now they were together in the same town again, and their friendship had grown many times stronger as Kaylee helped Sarah adjust to her new school.

Sarah sighed and ran her fingers through her tangled hair, gazing out the window above the sink. She saw the outline of the trees in her yard swaying to the soughing wind. Seeing darkness brought chills to her body and she turned away sharply. She left the kitchen to get ready for another day at Springwood High, hoping all the while that Kaylee would be able to quell her irrational fears.

* * *

"Hey, Cal, what up, dude?" Rob, in his trademark brown corduroy jacket and denim jeans, sauntered across the school yard toward a group of leather-clad teenagers, all of whom exuded an aura of cockiness and a potential for acts of great stupidity.

Cal squinted into the sunlight at the broad-shouldered man approaching him. "Bro, I'm glad you made it to school alive," he said as he slowly stood up and stretched his limbs, reveling in the warm day. The other four boys remained seated, lounging on the rock ledge that lined the steps up to the school.

"Yea, so am I. And stone-cold sober, too." A grin split Rob's square face, showing off large white teeth. Cal braced himself as the considerably larger man pulled him close into a hug, slapping his back heartily.

"Damn, maybe you'll actually do good on the chem. test today," wheezed a scrawny, sickly-looking youth. One of the recently initiated freshmen, Cal thought as he tried to recall his name. Oh, yes, Scott. One of the suppliers. Cal casually wondered about how long Scott would stay in his respective sports with the lifestyle he was following. It didn't bother him any, though; it wasn't his job to babysit the scrap, just as it wasn't his place to worry about other people's problems. Well, at least not more than he needed to.

Rob laughed at Scott's remark. "Hell, no! Do you think I studied?" He managed to fit his large girth between Scott and another kid of the group, both of whom made no effort to move for him. In a flash, Rob grasped Scott's head and playfully destroyed his well-prepared hairdo.

"Get off me, fag!" Scott yelled, laughing as he tried to squirm out of Rob's arms. Cal chuckled as he watched, glad that their good humor was still intact. It wouldn't last long, though; not with the shortage. It was only a matter of time before they ran out altogether.

Cal squinted into the sunlight, sighing with uncharacteristic worry. If those damn supply trucks didn't arrive within the week, every household on the block would be affected. And that couldn't happen. Cal had been trying to hold it together, but that didn't mean that he could once the whole neighborhood ran out. If that happened, things would become impossible.

"Look! There's that new chic!" Jake was practically foaming at the mouth as he stood up. He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and took stance atop the beige stones lining the walkway, making sure he was in the perfect position to woo said female. Still a ways off, the thin blonde slowly walked along the sidewalk that ran perpendicular to the steps. As she passed a small clique of girls, one broke off and joined her, matching her slow pace. Cal watched them as they came near. The blonde was looking at the ground as she spoke, fear apparent in her body language. The girl beside her, holding her books in one arm, put her free limb around the blonde's shoulder and awkwardly embraced her.

Cal's interest was piqued. He had been keeping an eye on this frail girl ever since she had arrived, and it seemed to him like she hadn't been bothered by much until now. He wondered whether she had had nightmares before (for he knew in his heart that Freddy had caused this reaction) and had just been adept at covering up her reactions, or if the knife-wielding psychopath hadn't chosen to strike until last night.

"Hey, babe," Jake cooed down from his perch. The blonde looked up, her soft beauty untainted by tears. She was slight and short, with frail features and large doe eyes. She glanced at the wannabe suitor standing above, and then averted her eyes. Her gaze met Cal's for a brief second before she looked at the ground and continued walking. Her friend glared over her shoulder at Jake and flicked him off.

"Come on, don't be that way, darling," Jake called after her, cockily flipping his shaggy black hair out of his eyes. Rejected, he turned his head and spit into the grass, disappointment etched into his handsome features. Cal allowed himself a small grin and watched as the blonde and her friend climbed the steps to the school, watched as the blonde's shoulders gave one last shudder before she disappeared beyond the doors.

Cal fingered the object in the pocket of his jacket. It was time.

* * *

"Sarah, you have to eat _something._" Kaylee pushed Sarah's tray towards her, pleading with her. Sarah reluctantly pulled it close, trying to placate her friend. She could feel Kaylee's motherly gaze as she picked up her fork, carefully loaded five kernels of cooked corn onto it, and raised it to her mouth. Kaylee watched her chew, made certain that she swallowed, and gestured for her to eat more when she paused. Sarah looked at her with a glance that relayed both her annoyance and her gratitude, a double-emotion feat that only she could accomplish.

With deliberate slowness, she scooped more aliments onto her fork. She saw the slight twitch of Kaylee's facial muscles as her friend stared off through the lunchroom windows and noticed the way her fingers drummed against the tabletop. Until now, Sarah had been too busy with her own inner turmoil to realize the impact of her story on her friend.

Kaylee suddenly blinked and shook her head, muttering something to herself.

"Wha's wrong?" Sarah asked through a full mouth.

"It's . . . it's nothing . . ." Kaylee looked down at her tray, opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it. She got to her feet and picked up her tray. "I'm gonna get rid of this beast. I'll see you in trig." Sarah nodded at her, chewing slowly. Kaylee turned to leave, but then stopped. She set her tray down with a sigh and looked plaintively at Sarah. "It was just a dream, Sarah. That man is no more real than Santa Claus. Don't worry, tonight you'll sleep like a rock." Sarah registered a slight hollowness to her words, but didn't say anything. "And," Kaylee leaned across the table as she whispered, "be nice to Cal. He may seem like a jerk at first, but everyone here owes him something. And you probably will, too." She straightened, glanced at something beyond Sarah's head, and then walked away.

Sarah turned to look behind her but saw nothing. Sighing inwardly, she watched Kaylee's brown braid whip from side to side as she clipped across the room. There was something about Kaylee's demeanor that said that she was hiding something. Sarah felt terrible for not paying any attention to her friend. Why did she have to be so wrapped up in herself all of the time? Couldn't she just forget that stupid dream?

She continued to pick at her food, not hungry at all. Something caught her eye: a slight discrepancy in the table underneath her tray. She hastily pushed it aside, and felt her fingers trace the four gouge marks that marred the tabletop. They looked as if they were made by knives. Bile rose in her throat. In an instant, she was on her feet, ready to leave, but then she felt a strong hand grasp her arm.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there. Why are you in such a hurry, honey?" Sarah looked at the masculine hand that held her, traced it upwards past the leather coat, up to the arrogant grin, the slicked back black hair, the sparkling blue eyes.

The man laughed at her discomfiture as he released her and seated himself across the table, folding his hands together. He made a gesture for her to sit down. She stared at him, bewildered, and cautiously lowered herself into the seat.

"I've seen you around. You're . . . Sarah, right?" She nodded, looking down at her discarded tray in order to escape that devilishly handsome smile. He was one of those overbearing jocks, blessed with good looks that they didn't deserve in the least. But even as she thought about the unfairness, she couldn't prevent the hammering of her heart at his handsomeness anymore than she could prevent herself from breathing.

"The name's Cal." The bench creaked as he leaned forward across the table. "I know it's very rude of me, but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with your friend over there. And it sounds to me like you suffer from a case of . . ." he lowered his voice, "the Nightmare." She looked up, saw the playful grin on his face, and then looked away. She wasn't used to being talked to by someone so high up in the social ladder, let alone a _boy_ so high up in the social ladder.

"I thought nobody in this town had dreams."

"Well, not a lot of people do. But there's a very good reason for that." Sarah glanced at him and warily regarded the prescription bottle he now twirled in his hand. Its single content clacked against the orange cell, trying to escape.

"What is _that_?" she asked, suspicious. The whole situation had just gone somewhere she absolutely did not want it to go.

"This," he declared, "is your best friend." He gestured for her hand. She made no move to give it to him. His brow wrinkled with frustration. "It's not meth, if that's what you are thinking." She stared at him, confusion and distrust welling in her chest.

He continued, "Take it before you go to bed tonight. And if you don't sleep like you did when you were a babe in your mother's arms, you can . . ." He looked around, contemplating what to say. "You can have my jacket." He grinned, plucking at his lapels. When she continued to stare at him blankly, he added, "C'mon, it's $250. Definitely worth the risk, right?"

"Who are you?"

"I already told you. I'm Cal."

"No, who _are_ you? What are you trying to sell me? What's the catch?" Sarah felt uncharacteristic anger boiling up inside of her. She tried to crush it, but it melded with all of her anxiety, hurt, and fear, and burst out in an unstoppable tirade. "You walk over here acting like you hold the cure to world hunger. Well, screw you! I have no idea who you are or why you are trying to 'help me', so just get away from me, you creep!" She leaped up onto her feet, slung her backpack over her shoulder, snatched up her tray and marched away from the table.

Cal's caught Sarah's arm in his grip. "Don't touch me!" She squirmed, trying to get away. He glared at her intently, inadvertently squeezing her arm with his anger.

"You are making this way harder than it's supposed to be. I'm just trying to help you."

Sarah looked at him, raw fury and fear in her eyes. She tugged her arm out of his now-limp grasp. "I don't need your help." She angrily yanked on her backpack strap to readjust it, and then stalked away.

Cal's piercing blue-eyed gaze stayed in her mind's eye as she walked out of the lunch room. She felt a shiver run down her spine as another blue-eyed stare filled her vision, one accompanied by a malicious leer, a rotting face, yellow teeth . . . Sarah shook her head vigorously and tried to hold onto the anger that had grasped her in its vice. But it slipped away from her, making her wish with all of her might that Freddy's grotesque image could slip away just as easily.

* * *

As Cal walked away from the lunch room, he ground his teeth in frustration. He had spent many days thinking about when to give Sarah the Hypnocil, considering the major shortage on the street. He didn't know how long she was going to last, but it seemed as if the Nightmare finally had got her. And she had refused his help. He felt a prick of worry as he thought of how she wouldn't last the night without Hypnocil.

Why did she have to be so difficult? Cal hadn't predicted such anger from the girl he had labeled as meek, though it was undoubtedly caused by her frayed nerves and lack of sleep. The girl looked like she hadn't slept all night. But still, she should have _wanted_ something to save her from the Nightmare. Obviously, she didn't want it enough.

Cal vaguely realized that someone was walking next to him. He looked down at the girl, her long braid flinging from side to side as she matched his quick pace.

"What did you say to her?" she asked tersely, not bothering with a greeting.

"Relax, I didn't say anything out of the ordinary routine."

"I was going to handle the situation! I told you not to talk to her _at all_!"

"You did, but you never gave me a good reason not to." Kaylee snorted with derision. "She wouldn't even take it," Cal continued. A sudden idea struck him. "Here," he reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle, shoving it into her hands, "make sure she takes it before tonight. I only put one in there because that was all I could spare without my parents noticing."

Kaylee looked at him with an unreadable emotion in her eyes. "Okay . . . I'll make sure she gets it." Cal smiled and slapped her on the back heartily.

"Later, babe," he called, knowing it would piss her off. He turned and kept walking, watching the crowd part before him like the Red Sea. Damn, he could be a good person sometimes.


End file.
